


Sorting Hats Have Feelings

by Rhodium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1991, Gen, Hufflepuff, No one knows what's going on, Not meant to be serious, OOC sorting hat, Union, albus has bad fashion sense, confused Dumbles, house-elves, lemon drops, more lemon drops, right after the sorting, sorting hat is angry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhodium/pseuds/Rhodium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sorting Hat has a problem. A rather reluctant Albus attempts to fix it. Albus doesn't understand what he's doing wrong, and Fawkes makes an appearance.</p><p>"Albus. I am simply an animated object. I may be infinitely wise," Albus twinkled, "unfathomably old," the headmaster twinkled more brightly, "and ESSENTIAL TO THE RUNNING OF THE SCHOOL...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it isn't mine.

 

In Albus's own opinion the feast had been rather splendid: no unexpected sortings, a lovely rendition of the Hogwarts' song, and – the cherry on the cake – his specially commissioned year-long supply of lemon drops had arrived just in time for the new term.

It was a pity that the rest of the staff or the student body didn't share his proclivity towards the hard boiled sweet, but neither the endless eye-rolls of Severus nor the clipped mutterings of dear Minerva would halt him in his crusade to spread the joy and happiness to his students through the medium of a citrus sweetie. He personally thought that they were the most valuable thing he could impart to his students, but he daren't voice this thought to his prickly deputy headmistress. He suspected that it wouldn't be received well. Probably because of her feline affliction.

"Albus."

"hmm?"

The aged headmaster looked up, a calm and complacent tone hiding his internal shock. He had not been caught off guard in his office for _years_ , not since he'd put up the monitoring charm outside his door. A quick, sweeping survey of the room did not allude to anything wrong, so where had that mysterious voice called from?

"Oh for Merlin's sake – Albus - do you seriously not recognise my voice?"

It was true... Albus mused. The voice did indeed hold a certain familiarity to it, but he could be imagining it. His pale blue eyes flickered around, still on guard, as he attempted to source the intruder. It would be best not to alert the imposter to his confusion.

"Yes, yes, I recognise you. Why – may I ask – do you hide yourself?"

There was a long, strangled sigh. Albus glanced around once more, hopeful that the noise would point out the location of the speaker.

"Albus. Look. Up."

Bewildered but compliant with the mysterious instructions, the headmaster rested his eyes upon the opposite shelf – directly across from his desk – before his gaze caught on a peculiarly miffed looking hat.

"Ah, my boy, what has you so troubled?" He asked jovially, pleased to have finally solved the identity of the elusive voice.

"Albus – I can't... and I AM NOT YOUR BOY, HEADMASTER. DO I LOOK LIKE A STUDENT? Albus – by Morgana, I am older than you! How long have I lived here? Are you so senile, old man, that you have forgotten me?"

Albus peered at the frustrated hat through his half–moon spectacles and put on his best disapproving face.

"Now-now, there is no need to shout, my boy, I am not deaf yet!"

The wrinkled headmaster chuckled to himself at that. The tatty hat silently wondered how difficult it would be to hide poison amongst those insufferable lemon drops.

"Albus, please, I have a serious issue that I need to discuss with you."

"Well, my boy, I am all ears."

The sorting hat started to reply before he was interrupted by a loud guffawing from the headmaster. It appeared that the mere mention of 'ears' reminded him of his deaf joke. If it could even be called a joke at that. It was the sorting hat's own suspicion that excessive lemon drop consumption had disturbed Dumbledore's mind, and – apparently – thrown his sense of humour off kilter.

Finally the deep chuckling trailed off. Now the hat could get to the matter at hand, if only he could keep the headmaster from getting distracted.

"There is a disturbing problem that I have encountered today, Albus. It troubles me dearly, and I implore you to remedy it as soon as you can-"

"Is it about Harry?"

The headmaster cut in abruptly, suddenly serious. The hat would have blinked if it possessed eyelids. Alas, it did not, and so instead scrunched up the old gnarled leather so it's face resembled something akin to a frown.

"What? No – this is completely different-"

"You remember that you can't tell me what you learnt about the students through their sorting, my boy,"

"A-Albus! Stop interrupting me!"

The headmaster once again adopted his disapproving mask at the hat's spluttered outburst. Perhaps it was getting old and becoming defected?

"Don't look it me like that! I know you well enough to be able to tell what you are thinking. Please let me explain?"

"Very well then. But know that if-"

"Yes – yes – no revealing private details about students. This is my job, you know. You needn't remind me."

Albus tilted his head slightly and made sure his eyes were twinkling.

"Oh for the love of Merlin! Fine – I will waste no more time and just air my grievances now. As I was saying before, there is a dreadful problem with the new students."

The hat paused to make certain that he had Dumbledore's full attention. And for dramatic effect. He led a very boring life, after all.

"They have nits, Albus."

"Nits?"

"Nits." The hat confirmed, infusing as much gravitas into his voice as possible.

"Oh dear. I can see how that is a problem. Worry not, my boy, for I will make sure Poppy will perform an inspection as soon-"

"I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE STUDENTS, ALBUS!" The sorting hat bellowed, frayed and scratched scraps of leather flapping as it bristled with ire. This man would be the death of him. A mad, demented, old codger would do to him what numerous creatures and dark lords and time could not. Not that the hat had been specifically targeted over the years, but _still_ , he was certain that the unbearably twinkling headmaster would be the end of his animated days.

"Albus. _Please_. I can – feel – the critters clambering – inside – me. The cretins are making me their _home_ , trampling and chewing and wrecking havoc onto me! I will soon become a hive for their spawn, infested with their ugly pestilent bodies, _and will you stop laughing at me_!"

"I a-apologise, my – my boy," the headmaster managed to get these words out in between deep breaths, and quickly schooled his expression into one of concern. He ignored the mutterings of the hat as it complained about the headmaster's stubbornness to use the hat's name, and waited for the sorter to refocus back on him.

After a short while, the hat's vociferous cursing ceased, and Albus spoke up.

"What would you have me do then, my dear boy?"

The headmaster became slightly alarmed when the hat seemed to puff up and ready itself for another tirade against his character, but as quickly as this threat emerged it left, and the hat seemingly deflated.

"Albus. I am simply an animated object. I may be infinitely wise," Albus twinkled, "unfathomably old," the headmaster twinkled more brightly, "and ESSENTIAL TO THE RUNNING OF THE SCHOOL, but I am what I am, and I have no magic of my own. I humbly request that you perform a cleaning charm on me, or an exterminating charm, or whatever it is you can do with that silly little twig that will rid me of my...infection."

"Do you not think that this is an overreaction, my boy? I'm sure that if you wait long enou-"

"ALBUS. _PLEASE_!"

Dumbledore leant back in his chair, hands clasped together, and put on his best grandfatherly face.

"I'm afraid, and please understand, that any magic I may cast upon you will interfere with the enchantments-" "-Don't. DON'T DO THIS YOU OLD, SENILE-" "placed onto you by the founders."

The headmaster's twinkle was now at a full blaze, as an inhuman shriek erupted from the lips of the sorting hat. Albus offhandedly threw up a one-way silencing charm with an unnoticeable flick of his wand, and watched, amused, as the hat floundered about in it's place.

Maybe the hat was past it's time? Should it go into retirement? Albus appraised the hat behind the safety of the silencing charm. It was a little shabby, but that couldn't be helped – not everyone possessed the same great fashion sense that he himself had. Perhaps all it needed was a new look, to regain it's confidence? Yes, that must be what was needed - the hat was only just now broadcasting it's insecurities!

Albus beamed broadly, believing he had solved the problem. He quickly conjured up a bright fluorescent pink and purple scarf, and levitated it over to the hat in such a manner that it was wrapped around the brim. Perfect.

Seeing now that the hat's 'lips' were closed and it was no longer yelling, in obvious awe and gratification of the headmaster's insight, Albus wasted no time to remove the silencing charm and waited for the outpouring of thanks that would surely follow.

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, students and teaching staff alike jumped in startled shock as a terrific rumbling resonated throughout the stone walls of the school. The miniature earthquake would go down in history as unexplained, everyone having their own explanation for such an event. Snape would roll his eyes and sneer at his godson when later asked, for it was obviously the castle showing it's distress for housing a Potter once more, and Draco would nod whilst secretly believing that it was a hidden dragon stirring within the bowels of the dungeons.

Many of the current student population shared the same belief about what caused the occurrence, and so it was only a surprise to few when McGonagall dragged the Weasley twins out of bed the following morning by the ears and frogmarched them down to her office. When Ronald heard about this, he was stuck between admiration for his brothers' actions and his own lingering belief that it was one of his mother's howlers.

Harry Potter personally held the opinion that it was Hagrid sneezing in a particularly acoustic hall, which Hermione, upon hearing the explanation, dismissed this and stated that it was simply the castle settling down, like old muggle houses did.

In fact, the only human that truly knew what happened was the headmaster himself, who could only watch in disbelief as the Hogwarts' very own sorting hat ripped itself from the wards of the school in an unprecedented display of will-power. The magical backlash was sent throughout the school in a shockwave, later named the "Hogwarts' earthquake of '91", and preceded the lesser well known "Sorting Hat strike of '91".

* * *

Albus was released from his stupor when the hat decided to explain it's actions.

"I'm on strike, Albus."

"You can't be on strike, my boy, you were created-"

"-I have no duty to the school now. I can go on vacation. I can find a nice tailor wizard to cure me of the ailment that you refused to help with. You must help me now, headmaster, or Hogwarts will have lost it's sorting hat. And don't think you can replace me with a sorting dishcloth or whatnot, Albus! I know that twinkle!"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. Weren't meddlesome dark lords enough? Must he put up with petulant clothing also? The talking-back robes were bad enough; the headmaster to this day was very insecure about his apparently flabby buttocks.

"Be a good boy now-"

"-Not. A. Dog-"

"-and reinsert yourself into the wards. There is nothing to be ashamed of – you are aware that these - nits – will die off in no time at all?"

"That is not the point! I want to be clean _now._ The bugs shouldn't take too long to perish – believe me when I say that Malfoy's hair gel has probably drowned half of them already – but the issue here is that I will have to live for weeks with these squirming critters! I want them out!"

Whatever the headmaster was to reply to this demand was lost when Fawkes entered the office in a flash of flames, flapping about in the air for a beat of a second before landing on his perch. At this new and unexpected arrival, the sorting hat visibly perked up and cried out.

"Fawkes! My loyal friend! Will you join me in my strike against the school and it's backward ways? We can form a union together, and...and I can demand better bird food on your behalf!"

Fawkes eyed the hat warily, and trilled out an affronted denial, before regarding the headmaster with an inquisitive expression. Dumbledore sighed and quickly explained to the phoenix about the hat's current predicament. The bird nodded in understanding, before immediately taking off from his perch and grasping the hat in his talons.

The sorting hat cried out in shock before it disappeared in a fireball along with the phoenix, the stylish conjured scarf left behind. Albus hummed in his seat before reaching for another lemon drop.

Minutes later, a prideful and smug Fawkes flew in through an open window and dropped a very soggy hat onto the headmaster's desk. Albus merely raised an eyebrow, and cast a quick diagnostic spell on the hat.

"Ah, there are no more 'nits' of any kind. Well done, Fawkes."

The bird trilled happily at that, satisfied that all was well once more.

The sorting hat merely mumbled catatonically about adding a giant squid to it's list of creatures and dark lords out to get it.


	2. Chapter 2

Lilac robes flared and golden tassels skimmed the stone floor below them as their owner hurried down the corridor. The violent hues of blues and purple unfolded around the figure, in an imitation of a bird of paradise, slipping through the air with a struggled grace. The pitter-pattering of feet shifted slightly in tempo as it rang out across the solid walls, resonating an ugly clamour, but Albus knew that the hammering of his own heart drowned it all out.

Only the his quickened pace and furrowed brow betrayed his otherwise neutral expression. To any onlooker (though no student would dare to be out of bed so late in the evening), their beloved headmaster appeared to be attending to important matters, as he was often wont to do. They wouldn't have caught the unusual hardness in his steel-blue eyes, all traces of his jovial nature gone, and only the eagle-eyed among them could have possibly spotted the gradual whitening of his clenched fists.

But Severus Snape was nothing if not observant, and so one after one cursory glance at the sombre man, Albus was ushered into the potions master's chambers.

The headmaster unsteadily lowered himself down onto a dark armchair that Snape conjured up moments before with a short jab of his equally dark wand, and he unwittingly clutched at the soft fabric of his robes with shaking fingers.

Snape's sharp gaze darted from the trembling hands to Albus's face, only now in the flickering candlelight observing the dark rings almost hidden by half-moon glasses. He didn't need to question as to why the headmaster was up so late, for they were sharing the same nervous apprehension about this particular school year, which should have been no different from any of the previous - save the recent addition of the-bane-of-his-life 2.0.

Seeing as the headmaster was not yet in any condition to speak, he summoned a house-elf and two pops later he was cradling the familiar warmth of tea in his hands. After he'd nearly drained the cup, silently pondering if their was some credence to Trelawney's subject as a crude lightning bolt mocked him in the tea leaves, Albus cleared his throat, and his words were like a bucket of ice to Severus's ears.

"It was as we feared."

Slowly placing the offending china down on a side table, eyes not leaving the headmaster's quiet despair, Snape implored him to confirm the fears that those words had awakened.

Albus nodded, understanding the cautiousness for what it was, and locked gazes with the stony professor.

"The stone is still safe, for now, I believe."

Snape visibly relaxed at that assurance, but did not allow himself to voice his relief, instead raising a solitary eyebrow in question.

Dumbledore rose out of his seat and paced around the room in circles, with black eyes following his worried figure.

"I should have listened to you, after Halloween."

Severus startled slightly at the rare admittance, before tensing at the understanding of what it was.

"What has happened, Albus?"

"I..."

The unusual hesitance only served to worry Snape more, but the headmaster finished his sentence before the dour potions master could ask him to.

"I fear that I have been fatally poisoned, my dear boy."

Snape's head sank into his shoulders, and he instinctively glanced at the door of his private store cupboard.

"It didn't work." Dumbledore answered his unspoken question. Normally Severus would be fascinated by a poison able to overcome a bezoar's detoxifying properties, but now wasn't the time.

"Allow me to..." Snape gestured at Albus with his wand, seeking permission.

The headmaster granted it with a slight nod, closing his eyes as the bright light of a diagnostic charm enshrouded his body. When it faded away, he was greeted to the sight of Severus muttering to himself and frowning in thought.

"Nothing obvious presented itself. If I may ask, what..."

Albus let an uncharacteristic blush grace his cheeks.

"Of course, I assumed as much. I... I fear this may be a substance of the decaying variety. My teeth have started to...rot, and I can sense that my internal organs are shutting down."

Severus nodded heavily, mentally scanning various toxins that could cause these effects. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he pierced the headmaster with an unforgiving stare.

"Would you describe the source of discomfort, as originating from the stomach area?"

Puzzled, Dumbledore nodded in confirmation.

Severus sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and for the first time that evening, he appeared to be untroubled. He eyed the headmaster with distaste and began to occlude the last pieces of his sanity deep into his mind where the headmaster could no longer corrupt them.

"This is not to say that my concerns about Quirrel were...unwarranted, but I severely doubt that your current problem is the result of anyone's ill work..."

Albus stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"...other than your own." Severus finished.

The headmaster furrowed his brows in thought, wondering what the professor could mean by that, whilst habitually slipping a hand into his robes and pulling out a yellow, hard-boiled sweet.

"I wouldn't do that." Snape informed him, eyes fixed on the citrus candy in morbid fascination.

Following Snape's shrewd gaze, Albus deduced that the sweets must have been how his assailant poisoned him. How simple it was – and to think he missed it! When he voiced his revelation to Severus, the potion's master had to resist an eye roll.

"No, you fool! You are poisoning yourself – _with the lemon drops!_ "

Dumbledore frowned at Snape's outburst, but refrained from commenting on it, instead choosing to raise one of the citrus sweets to his eye-level and examine it carefully. Snape watched all this with barely concealed agitation.

Finally, assured that there was nothing wrong, Dumbledore gave the professor a pitying look and told him that no, he hadn't laced the lemon drops with any sort of toxin.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Albus, the sweets haven't been _poisoned_ , _they are the poison_."

Seeing as this still wasn't getting through to the aging headmaster, he elaborated.

"Are you aware that those... _sweets_ are filled sugar? Or indeed, are you unaware that snacking on five boxes of them a month would be detrimental to your health? Don't give me that – as if McGonagall wouldn't notice those mounting bills in the school's treasury from Honeydukes."

Albus eyed Snape with careful concern. Slowly, so as not to startle the confused man, he laid a comforting hand on the wizard's shoulder.

"Severus, my dear boy, I know that you are an accomplished potion's master," Snape was now clenching his fists, "but surely you must know – lemon drops aren't harmful, my boy."

Snape rudely shook his hand off and buried his face into one of his own stained hands. Albus could barely make out the muffled sounds that Snape was emitting, but picked up on 'sorting hat' and 'psychosis'.

"I'm sorry, what was that, my dear boy?" He queried as Snape abruptly strode past him and rested a hand on the door.

"I said, Albus, that I have a union to join."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really be revising for my exam next week...but I couldn't resist writing this. Digital cookies to all who review!


	3. Chapter 3

Snape's upper lip curled in distaste as yet _another_ onion went sailing past his ear. Why the house-elves couldn't just calmly and safely transport vegetables around the kitchens were anyone's guess, and as Snape had to yet again duck as a carrot streamed through the air, he wondered if joining the sorting hat's union really had been a good idea after all.

"I still fail to see why we are meeting in the school kitchens for this – _ah_ – meeting. Salazar knows that these cretins will never join any sort of union other than one that seeks to abolish house-elf unions." Snape's auditory sneer was somewhat hampered by the fact that a pink dishcloth had caught on his head part way through his sentence, and he had as yet to realise it.

"Don't fret, Severus, I'm sure these little blighters will soon join up in no time! Why – _think_ of the possibilities – Albus will have to meet our demands if we can convince these goblins to strike for a few days." The sorting hat replied, currently sporting a sieve that had caught on it as if it were a prize in a tombola.

"House-elves." Snape automatically corrected, absently rubbing his face with stained hands to wipe some of the condensation off. The kitchens were far too steamy, busy, and noisy for a union meeting, but the sorting hat had been quite adamant. Snape had for a long time held a deep-seated fear of the sorting hat; it knew some rather distressing blackmail material about him.

"It would not work. Lemon drops are the only edible substance the headmaster would shift his position on, if they were to – _somehow_ – disappear. He almost certainly has enough to feed the entire student and staff population of Hogwarts through the school year, even if we could get the house-elves to strike. We have reached a dead-end here, sorting hat."

"I have a name, _boy_ , but you might be onto something there. I thought about this earlier – we could poison those sweets of his, and then ransom off the antidote."

"Impossible. The headmaster has taken to casting diagnosis spell after spell on those blasted sweets ever since he got toothache from them. He still isn't heeding my advice to cut consumption of them, even my threats to inform Pomfrey of the matter are going unheard. I joined this union as I thought you had some actual plans, sorting hat, but I see that you are as impulsive as the head on which you used to sit. If that will be all, I will now take my leave." Snape rose, black robes weakly fluttering, as they were far to heavy and saturated with steam to billow impressively.

The sorting hat spluttered at the insult on Gryffindor, before straightening up and puffing it's non-existent chest out, the sieve perched on it clattering to the floor as it did so.

"Now see here, boy - "

"- are you aware that you sound disturbingly similar to the headmaster -"

"- I will not be ridiculed by you and your cowardly attitude! This union is a noble and righteous stand against the manipulative man that rules our school,"

A smirk tugged at Snape's lips at that description.

"and so there will be no backing out. I propose that we seek out new members who can contribute more to our cause, which is why is suggested we hold our first meeting here. It is a far cry more than anything you've done to further our agenda."

"Is it hard for you to speak without breaking into song?" Snape quipped, unable to think of an reasonable answer to the hat's accusations. It was true that he hadn't done much to help the union, but he was a busy man, more so this year than any other so far. The boy-who-lived-to-glare-pitifully-at-him factored into only one part of the equation, never minding the stone and Quirrel and his constantly whining godson. The only thing standing between him and retirement was a pesky vow and the infuriatingly smug face he knew Minerva would make if he ever attempted it.

No, Severus was stuck in this position, and this supposed union was a half-hearted attempt to at least make his time at the school more bearable.

"Let's go over our aims once more. We demand that I will be awarded a full-time physician,"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"and a prominent role on the board of governors. We also propose that all students have to select their hairstyle from a mandated list which deliberately excludes hair gel in all it's shapes and forms."

"Ginger hair had to be banned as well. The students with it preferably expelled. Why do you require the students to have a particular hair style? It isn't as if you will be frequenting their heads again, the only people you talk to in the school year are the staff."

"Hmm. You're right. The list will cover both the students and staff then. Greasy hair will also be banned."

" _I beg your pardon, hat -_ "

"This union also stipulates that Albus is to be evaluated by a mind-healer, and a medi-witch. If he is deemed unfit, the command of the school is to go to the sorting hat. Furthermore, all lemon flavoured sweets are to be deemed contraband and invoke a penalty if anyone is found in possession of them. Anything else to add, boy?"

Snape sneered at the hat.

"Fine. All brats with lightning scars are to be expelled – and this is non-negotiable. Potions is to be a class taught solely to slytherins who I have said to be competent. This can be extended to other houses if we must allow it, but under no circumstances can a hufflepuff attend any of my lessons."

"I don't know what you have against hufflepuffs, boy, for I distinctly remember that I almost sorted-"

"Don't say it!" Snape snapped through gritted teeth.

"-you into Hufflepuff. You still are an adorably hard-worker, little puff."

Snape had now turned a deep red, and his wand was drawn and pointed at the chortling hat before the sentence had ended. The black stick was slightly trembling as Severus fought to occlude his anger, dark eyes hard and narrowed.

"I warned you not to mention that ever again, hat..." He bit out, intimately aware of all the house-elves that had taken a rare break from their work to observe the confrontation. If this ever got out...

"Don't worry, boy, your secret's safe with me..." the hat drawled, not at all wary of the wand pointed it's way. Snape swiftly holstered his wand, before turning on his feet and storming out the kitchens. The sorting hat then winked at a seemingly empty space, before calling for Fawkes and vanishing from the kitchens in a burst of flame.

Two red-headed twins dropped their disillusionment charms and stared slack-jawed at the other, having just stumbled upon the goldmine of blackmail. The Marauder's map was reverently re-folded and put away, it's work now done. A simultaneous ' _wicked'_ dropped from their lips, before they too rushed out the kitchens; they now had a lot of planning to do, after all.


End file.
